SongficORama
by Il Cattivo
Summary: Just one songfic after another... First oneshot-chapter is Theodore/Blaise, based on Bloc Party's "Better Than Heaven". Rated M for swearing and such.


A/N: I wanted to use Bloc Party's "Better Than Heaven" because of that one single line, really: _"Put down your books and molest me."_ AH! Sordid poetry! I like it :)  
I thought about just including fragments of the lyrics for "Better Than Heaven", seeing as they seem to be telling the tale of someone who immerses themselves in theology, and this doesn't really fit in too well with the whole HP-universe. But, as I soon found out, this is not _necessarily_ the case - it may be that the narrator, as it were, simply slips in a bunch of references to the Bible, without any further agenda. So there's loads of references to Christianity in this one... Zabini has been doing his Muggle Studies homework! Lulz ;D  
SUMMARY: Theodore comes back to Hogwarts after the holidays, and is all brooding and quiet and reserved... Well, _more than before_, anyway. Blaise is horny and needy - hey presto; **despair!  
**WARNING(S): Crude language and sexual themes.  
DISCLAIMER: All of which you recognize belongs to JKR.

* * *

_What's with all this doom and gloom?  
You used to be such, such a laugh  
It's only sin, original sin  
Corinthians (15:22)  
Never been a big fan of things  
But I'm growing so fond of you_

_You get sadder the smarter you get  
And it's a bore_

_Truth is truth  
I ain't no bohemian  
Much too, much too safe  
Much too, much too typical  
Much too, much too typical  
Much too, much too  
You can use your hands for something else  
I'll take you further than the scholars can  
Put down your books and molest me  
Heaven is here, where it needs to be_

_You get sadder the smarter you get  
And it's a bore_

_And there was a time before we were born  
When we stood in the garden  
If this world won't last I'll turn you on  
Well, I've got enough for the both of us  
The both of us_

_And there was a time before we were born  
When we stood in the garden  
If this world does not turn you on  
Well, I've got enough for the both of us  
The both of us_

- "Better Than Heaven", Bloc Party

**Better Than Heaven**

It really fucking hurts when you do that.

You pry my hands off you and give me a stern "Don't", all exasperated, like I'm some irritating child pestering you during your valuable grown-up time.

"No, not tonight, Blaise..."

If not yesterday, if not tonight, if not tomorrow - then _when_, Theodore?

I wasn't even touching you in a suggestive manner. There was just my palms wrapped over your shoulders, rather lightly, and my thumbs rubbing circles into your skin - like a massage, but not quite. I just wanted to touch you, you know, and as innocent a touch as that was more than enough... Well, not really. It was not really _innocent_, and it was not really _enough_, because almost-massages can quickly lead to nastier things, and that is _exactly_ what I want. You know this, and that's why you're so careful.

Bloody hell, just let me _touch you_... And put that bloody book of yours down so you can touch me back, will you?

Or is that just it; have I touched you one time too many?

Does my libido annoy you? Am I too fucking _human_ for you, Theodore? I know you look down your nose at people who indulge, who succumb to their weaknesses. That's no secret.

You epitomize the word arrogant, even more so than Draco. But, as opposed to him, your arrogance is almost justifiable... For the integrity and the subtlety of it all. And I'm sorry to admit that this silent-but-fierce attitude of yours just makes you all the more shaggable. _God help me,_ as the Muggles say.

I know you're a very serious person who takes everything, especially _yourself_, very seriously. I know you value knowledge over all else ("Knowledge is power," you very carefully inform me, as though I'm a six-year-old and need to be spoken to like some kind of dribbling oaf), and that you'd rather spend your time reading, acquiring the knowledge that you so desperately crave, rather than, shall we say, blow off some steam with another individual. I understand that, I do... And so, bearing all this in mind, I suppose I'm right in deducing that it annoys the hell out of you when you try to engage me in a stimulating conversation, and all I can think of is your creamy skin and how to best persuade you into letting me manhandle you against your bed.

I need for your soft, succulent lips to wrap themself around my cock like sin. I need to be inside you.

I could just grab that book and fling it halfway across the room. I'd _love_ to. But you look so stern, so damned _stubborn_ in your concentrated state, that I'm afraid you might try to hex me if I do.

You're just playing it safe. You're just _ashamed_. Afraid Draco or the others will find out, afraid your father will found out. He could take you out of school, couldn't he? Wouldn't he? And that's what your head is filled with right now, isn't it? Words like _faggot _and _poufter_ and _fairy_ and _pervert_ and _sick_ and _wrong_. That's how you were raised... Not that I'm particularly surprised. I was raised that way, too - I just taught myself not to care, quite simply.

Not caring about you pushing me away, however, is another matter altogether.

The Slytherin in me is telling me to sod it; I should just _not care_, and go find somebody else to shag. Shouldn't be too hard, should it? And that's all peachy-creamy, that would have been bloody perfect... If only I'd _wanted_ to shag somebody else, of course. That's another thing to take into consideration.

You haven't slept properly in days, and neither have yours truly. I lie awake at night listening to your groaning, your tossing and turning, and it both annoys and unsettles me. It annoys me because if you can't sleep I can't sleep either (you're too damn noisy), and I _need_ _my sleep._ And it unsettles me because I'll get paranoid about just what it is you would be tossing and turning like that for. What do you dream of, Theodore? Are they bad dreams - or just very, very _good_ dreams? Are they about me or somebody else? In case of the latter; _who_? Do you remember your dreams in the morning and fret over them like a desperate damsel, is that why you immerse yourself in textbooks in the daytime? To take you mind off things?

You seem to never stop reading, sometimes not even to eat, and you hardly speak anymore. Not that you did much talking in the first place, but over the last few days you've gone damn near mute. You're bloody well _catatonic_, Theodore, and it worries me.

What's more, you seem to have given up on the Cause (as Draco likes to call it), and although I can't say it bothers me much to see you rid yourself of acquaintances who will undoubtedly drag you down with them in the end, I can't help but worry. I worry because you used to be so fiercely _dedicated_ before, and now it seems like it's all the same to you. You don't give a toss about anything anymore, and you've gotten rather distant_... _I can't for the life of me imagine what kind of cataclysmic event could have occurred in order for you to get so bloody despondent all of a sudden. Does your father know about us, perhaps?

I've got loads more questions in store for you - if you're willing to listen, that is. I have my doubts.

Can't I just fucking _touch you_?

I could show you a piece of Heaven, if you'd just let me. You should know; you've been to Heaven and back with me before, _many times_ before. But I think you've forgotten, you _must_ have forgotten, otherwise you wouldn't tell me no. You wouldn't refuse me if you would just think about it, really try to remember how it felt for us before...t_his._ Before this weird phase of yours, or whatever it is.

You wouldn't deny me if you really feel like you said you did, when things were different.

Don't you think we were good together, Theodore?

_Fuck._

The way I see it, there are three possiblities; Possibility A is that your father found some of those sordid little letters I wrote you over the holidays - to which you didn't reply in a similar fashion, what with you priding yourself on being "decent", but which you _must_'ve kept for wank material - and he'd given you a lengthy lecture on how "buggery is wrong and unnatural", and proceeded to order you to "never ever see that Zabini boy again", however difficult it may be in regards to us sharing a room here at Hogwarts. This is the best one, I think, because that means I could easily lure you away from that straight (the irony is not lost on me) and narrow path. Of course, your father _could_ take you out of Hogwarts and ship you off to another school, but I'm trying not to think about it. The mere idea of you in the hands of the brutes at Durmstrang or the slags of Beauxbatons... Good grief.

Possibility B is that the only thing you felt for me was pure lust, and that it has cooled significantly over the holidays. This possibility makes my stomach turn over about a million times, but I figure that, if this is the case, I could definitely make you want me again. It shouldn't be too hard, if I just use some of my refined manipulation-skills.... After all, I wasn't sorted into Slytherin for nothing.

The last possibility, Possibility C, is that you've fallen in love with someone that simply _isn't me_. Now, this just makes me want to crucio whoever that person may be, and proceed to bashing my skull against a very hard surface.

You and your incessant studying and your silence and your shifting and your evasive nature just about makes me certifiable for St. Mungos. It makes me grind my teeth - which in turn gives me a headache. Can't you see how much of an unbearable fucking _purgatory_ you make my life, Theodore, just by refusing to let me touch you? I can't help thinking that you're being rather selfish, actually...

But then, so am I. We're both who we are, and who we are is Slytherins. And what are Slytherins, apart from egosentric, ambitious and cunning..?

We're _stubborn_.

And you're _very_ stubborn, I know that. But I can be more stubborn than you.

So I march over to you, I grab that sodding tome you're currently plowing through, and toss it into a corner. Fortunately, you don't look at me with what irritated glare of yours - the only emotions imprinted on your face are surprise and caution... And perhaps something else. You lick your lips nervously as I lean over you, grinning.

In a minute or two, we'll be on the nearest bed; you underneath me, my fingers in your hair and everywhere else, your fingers grasping bedsheets, your lips parted, _me inside you._

* * *

A/N: I'm actually quite pleased with this, myself... Sexy, n'est ce pas? ;)


End file.
